


Zero At the Start

by nonnymouse



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-29 18:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15079349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonnymouse/pseuds/nonnymouse
Summary: Kent Parson's timer is stuck at zero. Jeff Troy's is counting down to the final game of the Stanley Cup Finals.In the time between, they find what they need.





	Zero At the Start

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asimpleline18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asimpleline18/gifts).



> Thank you to my anonymous beta, who helped shape this into a better story.

Parser's timer was at zero.

During the game, he'd taken an unlucky hit to the back of the leg, and thus he lied down with an ice pack while Jeff got ready to go out. Which meant that when Jeff emerged from the bathroom, Parser's timer was on full display on the back of his thigh. Jeff had noticed it immediately (that is, as soon as he'd averted his eyes from the curve of Parser's ass beneath his black briefs).

Clearly, Parser hadn't noticed given the inconvenient location of his timer. It was up to Jeff. Maybe this would be the bonding moment that finally brought them together.

With not a minute left to lose, Jeff surged forward and shook Parser by the shoulder to bring him out of his reverie. "We've got less than an hour, man! Your timer is at zero. It probably happened during the post-game interviews. We've got to find—"

He trailed off, his excitement catching in his throat as Parser shifted his cool gray eyes Jeff's way. "My timer's been at zero for a long time, Swoops. There's no one and nothing waiting for me." He smirked, the same expression Jeff saw several times a game as Parser mocked their opponents for letting him score another goal. "You might want to put your towel back on. I think you were a little over-excited."

 

* * *

 

So it hadn't been a bonding moment. But once Jeff started thinking about it, because he couldn't keep those zeroes and the emptiness in Parser's eyes out of his mind so he might as well dwell on it forever, Parser started making a bit more sense. Jeff had expected to make easy friends with him. Both rookies, both on the same line. Parser, though, had been aloof with everyone, all about the hockey. Everyone let him have his space since he could play. They all knew and Zimmermann had been close. Mostly, they'd expected him to warm up once the season got going. Parser stayed closed off, though. Like a cat, the players he liked best were the ones who didn't try to get to know him at all.

Losing a best friend to drugs was a shit hand to be dealt. Knowing that there was no one special waiting around the corner, no lovers, mentors, friends? No wonder Parser didn't let anyone in.

It was time for Jeff to stop letting him be. You didn't have to be cosmically ordained to be a friend.

 

* * *

 

_Wanna play a game of pick-up?_ he texted Parser. He might be better at hockey, but basketball was his first love. Plus, it was just plain fun. Perfect for helping Parser out of his funk. If they played nicely, no one would roll an ankle and have to come up with an explanation for their physical therapist.

His phone buzzed. _It's too hot._

_It's Vegas. The court's indoors. I'm going to keep bugging you until you agree._

_Fine._

Jeff texted him the address and a time, then hurried to get his gear together. He hadn't expected Parser to agree so easily. He couldn't help but hum a tune as he dressed in gym shorts and a cut-up tee. He wanted to be friends with Parser for many reasons—because they were teammates, because they usually shared a room on roadies—but mostly because Parser was the coolest guy in the league. He'd be even cooler once he let loose.

 

* * *

 

Kent Parson was in insane shape. He was in the elite of elite athletes. He had speed. He had hands that could guide a puck down the ice while seeming to barely touch his stick.

He was an absolute disaster at basketball.

After less than half an hour, Jeff took pity on him and they switched to playing Knockout. If Jeff hadn't witnessed it with his own eyes, he would've said there was no way to miss thirty fucking free throws in a row. Not as a grown man with reasonable hand-eye coordination and working arms.

Parser managed.

When the ball rolled under the bleachers again, Jeff strode up to Parser and took him by the shoulders, forcing Parser to stare up at him. It was a little distracting how green Parser's eyes were, but this was a serious matter. "Parser, dude, you need to make me a promise. You must never, ever agree to play a charity basketball game. The honor of the Aces depends on it."

Parser laughed, like Jeff was making a joke. "Seriously, man?"

Jeff shook him. Just a little. "Swear."

 

* * *

 

For all that Parser never improved much at basketball, it was fun to play with him. He didn't seem to mind losing (when the game at hand wasn't hockey) and he at least helped Jeff keep his own skills up while they were on the road. When Jeff asked him if he actually liked basketball, he shrugged and said his trainer okayed it as good cardiovascular exercise.

Jeff didn't doubt for one second that Parser had asked his trainer about it. But the way he looked off to the side when he said it made Jeff think that maybe Parser actually liked playing with him. The guy was lonely as hell, and Jeff sure hoped he let someone in before he cracked. Jeff once more ignored how much he wanted to be that person.

 

* * *

 

The blogs had all picked up on the obvious since Jeff's timer was on his wrist. It was due to hit zero sometime during the last game of the Stanley Cup Finals. The game it looked more and more likely the Aces were going to force. And, if Jeff and Parser had any say in it, win. They'd lost the first two games at home, but the pressure just made them play better.

The breathless speculation didn't lift Jeff's gloom over the situation. Of course important things would be happening during the Stanley Cup game! The hour before a new countdown started wouldn't be enough to pinpoint one special person who could change his life, not on a night like that.

He tried not to be disappointed. There would be other countdowns, other chances. (He ignored that Parser seemed to have no chances. No one wanted to think about something like that happening to them.) He tried to focus on it being a good omen, a sign they'd make it to the Cup.

 

* * *

 

Parser caught the pass, slid around the defense and—it was good.

They'd won. They'd won, and Jeff's timer had hit zero, sometime when he was lost in the game.

 

* * *

 

Kent Parson's timer had been zeroed out since the day of the draft.

It used to count down to moments of potential, important connections, like a normal person's, but he found Jack half-dead and it went straight from fifty to zero.

He tried to tell himself that it didn't mean anything, that most of the significance of timers was cultural, tried to drown out the voice that said it was what he deserved.

For once, he wasn't thinking about it. Not after winning the Cup, not after managing to say something coherent about winning as a team to the reporters. But he dropped the soap in the shower like a bad joke, bent and twisted—and his timer was counting again.

He dropped the soap again.

He stared, the water running down his face, as he took the numbers in. He calculated it. Some time three months from now. He remembered the numbers on Swoops' wrist hitting zero. Swoops had given up on finding his connection this time. But once upon a time, Kent had known that he couldn't give up if he was going to get what he wanted.

He stepped out of the shower, then thankfully a smidgen of common sense hit before he walked into the locker room naked. Barely drying off, he wrapped a towel around himself and went back to his stall. He had to dress and do the presser. He hoped the crazed spark making his eyes light up blue would be written off as excitement over the Cup.

Thankfully, he'd practiced what he'd say if they won, because he wasn't sure what he'd've said if he didn't have a sound bite to go.

After, he didn't wait any longer. He tugged Swoops away from a conversation with two of the other guys. "Hey, I need to talk," he muttered as he guided Swoops to their hotel room, getting him to go quietly.

"Parser?" he asked.

They were safe behind the hotel door.

Kent kissed him. As first kisses went, it left something to be desired. Swoops wasn't getting into it, possibly because he thought Kent was having a mental breakdown.

Kent pulled away to explain. "I'm an idiot, Swoops. I've been telling myself the timer means nothing, but I've been letting it run my life. I've been in stasis, because those zeroes were telling me there was nothing out there for me, nothing to get better for. That it wasn't worth trying, because this was my life from now on. But you were trying, and I was ignoring what was right in front of my face."

Swoops blinked. "Kent, are you okay?"

"I am the best I've been all year. Now, do you want to date me, even though I can't play basketball to save my life?"

"I suppose your hockey makes up for it," Swoops said, pulling him close again. "I could date you for that final goal alone; it was beautiful."

This time the kiss was perfect, both of them falling to bed together and ignoring the texts blowing up their phones.

An hour after their win, Swoops' timer started counting down to sometime three months from now. Whatever they were waiting for, they were waiting for the same thing.


End file.
